A Break in the Clouds
by ApollodoraTheExplorer
Summary: Having seen and loved X-men first class, I was inspired to write a story in the 60s. Thus, I looked to the Manga of Cyborg 009. This story is based in the Manga so no cryogenic freezing. Set in the time between the Mythos arc and the underground arc. Enjy
1. Chapter 1

OMG, is this an update after all this time? I think it is! Holy Mother of the Earth and sky, I'm back! I apologise to anyone who waited for me to update for Trick of the Devil. I will get back to it as soon as I can work out the plot. The hard drive that had all my notes and work on it died, taking the data with it, including the epic guest chapter from my pal **Anti-form-sora**. T_T Thus, I must restart from scratch. Watch that space.

Anyhoo, this is a story based on the 009 Manga rather than the anime. The important thing to note is that the whole lot is set in the '60s. It's set in the time between the end of the Mythos arc and the start of the Underground Kingdom arc (what was that kingdom called? I can't find my copies of the Manga anywhere!) in which the cyborgs live normal lives for a while. I think most of what I'm writing is Canon but don't hold me to that. It's probably about 90% Canon.

**Tokyo, September 1967.**

I admit it: I've been cheating. Big surprise. But, if you were in my shoes, would you really be doing anything different? I didn't think so.

Anyway, it's not like I'm hurting anyone or anything. There are no rules forbidding what I'm doing and no one is losing out. I mean, it's not like I win _every_ race. I let the other drivers win sometimes, or at least make it a very close win. The crowds like better that way anyway. If I went all out and won by five minutes each time no one would look twice at me. I'd rather win by an inch and have a million fans than win by a mile and be loathed by everyone.

Anyway, Hurricane Joe is not famous for winning; he is famous for being completely reckless on the racetrack and by avoiding crashes by a hair's breadth. Thus, I have little choice but to rely on my cybernetic abilities to keep them interested. I'll admit, it pays well, but, that's really not why I'm doing this.

Let me give you a proper explanation. Five years ago, I was Joe Shimamura, aged 18. I was an orphan, a nobody and a convicted criminal. Not because I'd committed a crime, I might add, but because I was different. Being only half-Japanese, I didn't really inspire trust in other people and they had this nasty habit of assuming the worst. A sudden strike of fate saw me breaking out of jail, only to be swept out of the country that same night by the international brotherhood of underground weapons dealers known only as Black Ghost. Without any choice, they made me their test subject. They changed me, made me into a weapon. I became 009, the cyborg soldier. I met the other eight cyborgs, numbered 001 to 008, and together we escaped the captivity of Black Ghost. It would take a lot more than the threat of death to turn us into killers and we were ready to run for as long as it took to find our freedom. But of course, they wouldn't just let us walk away with the thousands of dollars worth of technology that had been implanted within us. They threw everything they could muster in our direction. The rule for our pursuers was simple: bring us back, dead or alive. For two long years we were pursued by other, newer cyborgs, with powers that I could never have imagined.

When New Year dawned in 1964 I looked in the mirror and realised that I had missed my nineteenth and twentieth birthdays and, also, that I hadn't aged a day since I had awoken as 009. In the two years since my incarceration I had stared death in the face almost daily without caring and, unbeknownst to me at that point, the worst was yet to come. In the early months of 1964 a group of cyborgs masquerading as the Gods from Greek Mythology began to attack the world around them, claiming that they were purging the world of those who were unfit to live in it. They didn't know the truth either. They really believed what they were saying. Their belief made them stronger than their cyborg powers ever could. For three months we fought them on and off, narrowly avoiding complete annihilation each time we met them.

I don't really don't want to go into it too much, but, suffice to say, our victory was hard. Not just physically hard either. When they found out the truth about Black Ghost and themselves, the Mythos cyborgs didn't take it well. In the end they all destroyed each other and the scientists that had operated on them.

The thing was, the whole situation wasn't just hard on them. It was hard on us, as a group. We had fought tooth and nail to stop them in their goals, but, in the end they destroyed themselves. We didn't know whom to blame for it all and so we turned on each other. Words were exchanged, a lot of which I wish I could take back. We had nowhere to vent all the anger and sadness. When the last words had been spoken we knew that we could no longer live together as a group. Besides, there was no sign of Black Ghost anywhere and we had gone a whole month without an attack. So, we did the unthinkable and went our separate ways. I wasted no time and simply came back to Japan.

The problem was, I couldn't be Joe Shimamura anymore. I had been written off as dead anyway and the only thing that would await me would be another prison sentence. So, I changed again. Cyborg Soldier 009 became Tetsuya Banks. I got myself a pretty good fake ID and passport that both proclaimed me to be Half American and Half Japanese and I set about building a new life for myself.

See, I had just been planning to lie low and avoid trouble, but, I found myself remembering a conversation I had with 002. For reasons that I couldn't figure out at the time, he and the other cyborgs didn't seem to care that I was only half Japanese.

_It's a sign of the times, _he used to say. _The whole damn world is melting together and you're living proof of that. It's high time those uptight snobs realised that. And you now what? You shouldn't be hiding away like a freak! You should shove it right back in their god-damned faces!_

It didn't have much impact at the time, but, when I got back to Japan I found that nothing had changed. The face in the mirror still looked like Joe Shimamura. So, with no other viable options, I became a new person. My new name, Tetsuya Banks, became a whole new identity. Basing myself on what I knew of 002, 003 and 007, I turned myself into what I saw to be a Westerner. I bleached my hair, changed my clothes and started to talk differently. It was strange, on my first day I was completely convinced that people would act the same as before and look down on me the same way. It was a surprise when they seemed to be impressed. I was confident and, as had been recommended, I was as different as I could be. People reacted to it.

I was back in Tokyo in the last few days of June 1964. A few months passed and I began to enjoy life. I found myself working as a stunt driver on the crew of a few films, risking life and limb for entertainment. Someone noticed my driving and offered me a job as a racecar driver. From there it was only up. I drove, the people watched and life just got faster and faster. I think I got addicted to the adrenaline somewhere along the way. It wouldn't surprise me either. Sometime back during our flight from the clutches of Black Ghost, Dr Gilmore, our allied scientist from Black Ghost, told me about a special augmentation within me that released massive amounts of adrenaline when I was doing dangerous things like fighting, or, driving a car stupidly fast. It left me pretty much euphoric at the end of each race.

Problem was, the thrill died after a while. Maybe I jut got used to it, or, maybe I just plain broke. The thrill died and the gravity of my situation dawned on me. I was a freak. Years could go by, decades even, and I would still look and sound the same. I could live to see the dawn of the year 2000 and I would still just be a weapon and nothing more. It would mean that I would eventually have to leave my cushy life in Tokyo or risk being discovered and imprisoned all over again, but by different people. Suffice to say, I had my share of dark days. Even if the Black Ghost was gone, their shadow still stained my mind.

It took me a while, but, I did get back on my feet. In the summer of 1966 I made a choice: to live in the moment. I knew that the life I was in at the moment would not last and that sooner or later I would have to run for my life again. I made a few provisional plans, invested some money overseas and stashed some emergency supplies and then stopped worrying. There was no point in wasting the good times when I didn't have to.

And thus, here I am. I am one of the most famous and respected racecar drivers in Japan; I have a wonderful house and more money than I know what to do with. I take my holidays in Hawaii and drive a Ferrari in my spare time. I live every day as if it is my last and apologise to no-one. Someday I will have to leave this, yes, but that day is not today. I will feel a moment of regret when that day comes, but, it will fade.

And thus, to you my friend, I raise my glass. I welcome you to my home but not into my life. I am a private man at heart and thus I will remain for as long as I can. I would like to say that I'll remember your face but I won't. Tetsuya Banks has no memory. Joe Shimamura would have smiled at you and remembered your face. 009 would have run from you at the drop of hat.

I am glad not to remember. I hope it lasts.

**End of part 1.**

**p.s. a massive hug and thank you to Sharks Potter for metaphorically kicking my butt back into writing with his work. You rule, man!**


	2. Chapter 2

Another chapter! Yay! It was fun to write as 002 again and I'm glad that I got it done so quickly. My thanks to **twarne** and **I Just Won a Free Toaster Oven** for their reviews.

Honestly, I don't actually know where this story is going to go or even how long it'll be. For now, I'm just monologuing as different characters to get myself back into the right frame of mind. Something might happen at some point but for now just enjoy the exposition.

**New York, September 1967**

If there's one thing I hate in life, it's people complaining. Seriously, I can take a lot in life and I have been through a lot myself, but, what's the use in moaning? It's not like it's going to make things change. Sure, it might bring a couple of minutes of sympathy from one or two people, but, after that they're just going to get tired of it and in the end people'll just think less of you for it. I'm not saying you gotta be a tough guy all the time or anything, but, there's a time and a place for these things.

The only problem is, with a city like New York, there's always gonna be someone in a bad state. You can't walk for two minutes without hearing someone mouthing off about how awful life is for them and today is no exception. Twenty minutes ago it started pouring down and all of a sudden my favourite diner became full of people trying to avoid the rain. And of course, where you get damp, disgruntled people you get conversation. Where you get conversation, you get complaining. This one guy at the table behind me is about the worst. He's been going on and on at the waitress about nothing in particular.

..._And of course, then Marcy said she wasn't going to cook dinner until I apologised to her. It's that whole Women's Liberation crap. All these girls are gonna take our balls for sure! I swear, they wouldn't've gotten away with that kinda stuff before the war, oh no, but what else do you expect. You give them an inch, they take a goddam mile! What else are we gonna have by the end of this? Those dames'll end up with our jobs, our money and all our property but they'll still be sayin' we don't give them enough!_

The waitress in question, Glenda, is actually a student activist. She's just working here to make ends meet. It's actually sorta funny in a way; as this guy keeps going and going you can see this girl getting more and more worked up. She's grasping tighter and tighter onto that little notebook of hers and probably counting to ten in her head.

_Sir,_ she says sharply. _I do appreciate that you're having a bad day, but would you __**please**__ order something. I got about a hundred more customers to serve here._

Yeah, good luck with that. This guy's started now and he's just gonna keep going until he's had his say.

_ But that's the thing, ain't it? I don't see why these girls are complaining! They don't __**have**__ to go out and work. All they gotta do is just keep the house nice and take care of the kids and they get everything else done for them. It's a goddam steal and they're still pissed about it! What's the world coming to? If only there were more girls like you, eh?_

I think Glenda just snapped. She honestly looks about ready to break this guy's nose. But, instead she just unclenches her fist, takes a deep breath and answers.

_Look sir, why don't I just come back in a bit,_ she says. _You can go on and give me a shout when you're ready to order, OK?_

And before he can even open his mouth she's off like a shot, stopping only briefly at my table to ask if I need a refill. The guy glances over his shoulder at me.

_Women, eh? _He says, whilst shaking his head.

I really shouldn't go there, I really shouldn't. One of the conditions my Mom laid down when she let me back in was that I wasn't allowed to fight any more. (Not fighting and also paying back the money I'd taken from her, which proved harder than I'd expected.) I really can't risk getting thrown out again over something so stupid, especially with the New Semester so damn close. I can't afford a place of my own yet and I'll be damned if I have to ask any of the other cyborgs for a helping hand.

Oh, didn't I mention, I'm going to college now? How about that? See, unlike some other French cyborgs I could mention, I have no intention of pretending that the past didn't happen. Quite the reverse, actually. When we all started to go our separate ways I made a choice: to fix everything that I had done wrong before becoming a cyborg. Jet Link was long overdue for a change and I was going to see it done. My first act after getting back to New York, getting a job, getting my Mom to talk to me, paying her back the money she wanted and settling back into the old apartment was to get on the phone to Japan. That old Doctor guy, Kosumi, had told each of us that if we ever needed anything after things were all over all we had to do was call him. I'll be honest, I'm no scientist, but, if Gilmore had name Kosumi as one of the top Biochemists on the planet who was I to question that. I spent a good three hours on the phone with him, telling him what had gone down since we were last in Japan and telling him what I knew about Gilmore's last known whereabouts. Yeah, I did kinda gloss over that massive fight we all had back in '64, but, in all fairness, the old guy is still in a wheelchair. I didn't want him to get too worried and endanger his health or something like that. But anyway, after that long conversation (which I managed to go through entirely in Japanese, much to Mom's surprise) I had the promise of a letter of recommendation from the Doc, which I used. I applied for NYU to study engineering, not because I have any interest in the subject, but because a lot of that stuff is naturally there in my cyborg brain. Creepy, right? I found myself able to fix a car without ever having even driven one before.

Of course, Mom wanted an explanation as to why her son, the idiot who flunked out of school and had nothing but contempt for every teacher to ever try and teach him anything, had come back after a two year absence able to speak eight languages, fix a car and even hold down a job. (Yeah, I know, right? You come home with all these great new skills and she only finds it impressive that you quit smoking and were able to hold down a job.) I had to think fast so I made up this story about joining the crew of a sail boat, ending up in Japan with no money and having to train as a mechanic to survive. It turned into quite a spiel. Mom was impressed that I'd gone that far but apparently not too pleased that I'd apparently ended up in Russia for a while. But, when I proved myself to be completely not-communist she calmed down.

But anyway, I've got a lot going on right now and if I get thrown out again I may just be thrown out of college also. But, all the same, this guy is really getting on my nerves.

If you didn't know me all that well, you'd think that I was getting annoyed on Glenda's behalf since my time fighting side by side with 003 has opened my eyes to how strong and independent women can be. But, really, I'm just sick to death of his complaining. Don't get me wrong; that whole "tough independent women" thing is a part of it, but, to be honest, I'd still be just as pissed off if he was being completely respectful to Glenda. I mean, this guy's acting like it's the second coming just because he had a bad day at work yesterday and his wife's in a mood with him. Big deal! I've been to goddam Vietnam and had my leg shot off! I've been hit by an anti-tank missile eight hundred feet in the air and fallen all of those eight hundred feet at full speed and just walked it off! I'm a cybernetically altered freak show with a computer brain and enough metal in me to pretty much guarantee that I can never go to a doctor without being discovered and turned into another lab rat. I've been in a fight on every continent and I still complain less than this guy! In fact, I freaking love my life! How many human beings on this earth can look up at the sky and say _yeah, I've been there. _I could go into space if I wanted!

_Listen pal, _I say. _What's the goddam problem? You're annoying everyone in the place with this get-up. _

_What'd you say to me?_ he replies. _You got some nerve, kid._

_ Like I give a damn, _I say. _Listen, no-one here cares that you've had a bad day! In case you hadn't noticed, that's how life is! Either shut the hell up and get a life or get the hell out of here and leave the rest of us to eat in peace!_

_ You little bastard! _He says._ Don't you even dare trying to lecture me! Who the hell d'you think you are? I fought in the goddam war!_

_ Yeah, so did everyone, _I say. _Let me know when you've something __**really**__ difficult and then I'll cut you some slack. _

OK, yeah, I'm just baiting him now. He's pissed and there's no real way he's just gonna let this slide.

_If you think you're so tough, kid, then fight me, right here and right now!_

Bingo. All of a sudden I become very aware that the whole diner has fallen silent. Every pair of eyes in the room is now on us both. And, I didn't even realise that I'd gotten to my feet. In fact, without even realising it I seem to have gotten out of the booth I was sitting in and I'm now staring down my nose at this guy, who is pleasingly shorter than me. A glance to me left also rings Glenda into my line of sight. From the look on her face she's more pissed with me than this guy. I can guess what she's wanting to say, since I got the exact same speech from 003 about four years ago.

_I don't need you to jump to my defence every time there's a problem 002, _she used to say. _I'm not going to break down every time someone says something nasty. I'm not some helpless child in need of saving!_

In my defence, I was definitely not the only one keeping an extra eye out for 003. The only difference was that when 009 jumped to her aid she called him brave and kind. I just get called a chauvinist. She just liked him because he was such an innocent little lamb, I swear. If he acted like me she'd lose interest in a second.

But anyway, it seems that I have made things about a hundred times worse than I meant to and there doesn't look to be any easy way to fix this. The only thing I can really salvage is the diner.

_ Fine, but not in here,_ I say. _I ain't got enough cash to pay for the damage I'd do._

A corny line, I know, but unfortunately, it's true. Plus, if I got charged for wrecking the place Mom would definitely find out and then, bam, no more new life.

Ten minutes later I find myself out in an alley in the rain. I did try to apologise to Glenda, but she was having none of it. The guy is taking his jacket off and cracking his knuckles. I'm beginning to feel a bit bad for him. I mean, I'm probably going to take him down in one hit, or maybe two. He's gonna look like a complete idiot for no reason other than him being a loud-mouthed jerk. That, and the fact that I'm supposed to be remaining incognito. If I attract too much attention to myself I could risk being discovered. And, the whole no more new life, thing. Mom would definitely flip if she knew I was fighting again.

However, this is personal. I can't just sit around and take it from this guy. One fight won't do any harm so long as I keep myself focused and don't fly or accelerate. That's easy enough, right?

My train of thought is derailed when the guy comes running at me with fists clenched. Without even thinking I step out of the way and he falls to his knees. He jumps back up, red in the face and even angrier. He throws a punch in my direction, and I dodge. He aims a kick, and I step back, causing him to fall over again. This continues fr a few minutes. With every blow that misses his face gets redder and redder and I just stay cool.

For a moment, something catches my attention in the corner of my eye. A flash of yellow, but not just any yellow. It's that same yellow from the cloaks of our cyborg uniforms. Is it one of the others?

Unfortunately for me, that one moment was all this guy needed. He lands a punch right in my jaw, knocking me to the ground. Without a moment's pause I leap to my feet and punch the guy right in the gut, knocking him out. Honestly, that wasn't how I'd planned this fight. I had been making a plan in my head to let him get the first hit and to let him get a few punches I here and there to save him from complete humiliation, but, there you go. The only thing on my mind now is that flash of yellow I saw. A glance around the alley brings no explanation. There's nothing in the trash cans or on the wall that I could have mistaken for it and the only other person here is the now unconscious guy.

As I leave the alley and begin my walk back the apartment my mind begins to move in new directions. Perhaps it's time to go to Europe and visit some old friends. I could even go down to Africa and then head to Asia. Three years is a long time without talking to folks and I'm beginning to wonder if some of them have started breaking the silence.

Of course, I did promise Dr Gilmore not to misuse my powers back when we were still talking. He had this idea in his head that I was reckless and headstrong (and he was nice enough to say so to my face) and so he thought fit to warm me of the consequences. I made a half-hearted promise not to be stupid and for the most part I kept that promise.

I mean, for a while when I got back to New York I did entertain the idea of taking a leaf from Superman's book and fighting crime. But then, I remembered one key fact: this is New York. Fighting crime here is like trying to keep sand from getting between your toes in the Sahara Desert. It ain't gonna do squat. So, I was a good boy. I kept my head down and devoted my time to this stupid engineering course.

But, this isn't a stupid idea though. I'm not just serving my own interests here; I'm trying to rekindle old friendships and meet with people that I last spoke to in a fight. Even if the New Semester is only a couple of weeks away I could just fly abroad on weekends and be back on time for classes on the Monday. No-one would need to know. I know enough people that Mom wouldn't suspect me being with friends all weekend. It's the perfect alibi.

So yeah, maybe this weekend I'll make the flight to Paris, or London. On my own I can make that journey in three hours and I don't even have to worry about clearing customs. It'll be fun, it'll be exciting and, most of all, it'll be worth it. Just you wait and see.


	3. Chapter 3

More chapter! Yaaay! I'm not too pleased with this. I discovered the hard way that I'm not a comedy person. I have a sense of humour and I can always get a joke, but I can't write comedy to save myself. As such, this 007 chapter is a bit OOC in my opinion. It's based more on the side of him that is hinted at in his episode of the 2001 anime entitled "The London Fog". I honestly didn't mean for this chapter to include as much commentary post-war-Britain, but, I was with my Grandparents all weekend. (They're both Londoners who lived through WW2.) Enjoy.

**London, October 1967. **

The first rays of sunlight barely make it through the clouds this morning as my hometown grudgingly awakens. Once again, London is grey and wet. If you expect anything else at this time of year then you're not from around here.

You'll have to forgive me, whoever you are. I'm not my usual dynamic self. I haven't slept all night and, to be frank, the rubbish on the telly isn't making it any easier. There was this documentary on a couple of hours back about this seven year old girl in Suffolk who lost her arm in a car crash and has learned to get by with a wooden one instead. It was also focusing on the wonderful new progress that had been made in the field of prosthetics. I found myself getting more and more resentful of the programme as it went on. At first, I hate to say that it was a savage pride that drove me.

_You're impressed by __**that**__? I'm a highly advanced cyborg with more computer technology per square inch than most towns have per square mile...!_

It was then followed by a rather strange self pity that would have been insufferable for any other people in the room, had there been any.

_Why are you giving her so much sympathy? She's so normal...! She's going to grow up fine and have a perfectly normal adult life, save for one dud arm. What about me? I'm a freak! _

And finally, the feelings grew into a rather heated fear.

_How long would it have been before Black Ghost capitalised on this girl's pain if we hadn't stopped them? How is it that greedy, cruel people are always the richest and most influential? How long before a new organisation replaces Black Ghost?_

On any other night, I'd have just turned the telly off and gone to bed to sleep off the bad feelings, but, I don't think I could have slept for anything in the world. See, today is something of an important day, in all the wrong ways.

See now, I was horrendously busy for the past couple of weeks with rehearsals, performances and parties (parties which I might add were solely for networking) and as such I rather lost track of the date. I looked at a newspaper two days ago and nearly fainted when I saw the date. The date today is the nineteenth of October 1967, which is my fiftieth birthday.

Or rather it _would have been_ my fiftieth birthday had I not abandoned my old self three years ago. Let me explain: when the Black Ghost organisation grabbed me in 1962 I was 45 years old and my name was George Bradley Fisher, even if most people knew me by my nickname, G.B. I was of average height, bald and looked every bit like a forty-five-year-old, if not a bit older. Now, in 1967, with the Black Ghost gone, I am 50 years old and my name is now Matthew Williams. I have made extensive use of my unique ability to change forms and have adopted a new face, as well as a new body and voice. I am tall, I have red hair and I am good looking enough to be considered charming but not good looking enough to attract attention to myself. I look about twenty-five and I am educated far beyond anything that George Bradley Fisher's family could ever have afforded.

There wasn't actually anything stopping me from just going straight home and living as G.B again, if you must know. But, to be frank, I really didn't want to. Answer me this: if you had the choice between being a tired, washed-up alcoholic or, well, anyone you dreamed of, which would you choose? If you go for the first option I'll brand you a liar for the rest of your life. As G.B I was on the very edge of society. I would have had real trouble finding any viable work, especially with certain _things_ still in living memory. I tell you, scandals never really leave you, even if there is concrete proof that you had nothing to do with the events or persons involved in them. Plus, people would have wanted to know where I was for those years when I was gone. What could I possibly tell them?

But don't worry; G.B will never be gone for long. If there is even the slightest trace of a sign of Black Ghost in the world Matthew Williams will melt like a wax sculpture and, hopefully, the West End will mourn his passing a little more enthusiastically than they did for G.B.

And, yes, I am a bit annoyed about the complete lack of any remorse for my loss five years ago. That, coupled with this damned documentary has brought me down further than I'd like. In the old days, I'd have turned to drink to make myself feel better, but, there's no point now. See, one thing that Dr Gilmore made sure to tell me was that alcohol would no longer have any effect on me. So, I wouldn't really say I've gotten over my addiction so much as simply gained immunity. Yay.

Since you ask, I won't be celebrating my birthday. Even if I was still living as G.B I don't think I would. It could just be post-all-nighter depression talking, but, there's not really much in my life that I'd consider worth celebrating. I didn't get to fight in the Second World war because of my asthma and was thus sent to an office full of old men where my main duties consisted of filing reports, answering and directing phone calls and bringing cups of tea to the other people in the office. It was what my father would not-so-kindly refer to as "women's work". Except that it wasn't. Both of my sisters got to work in munitions factories during the war, properly helping in the war effort, which they never failed to remind me of.

_Oh don't you worry G.B; I heard on the wireless that Churchill's going to give you a medal for that report you wrote on rubber supplies...!_

The only thing I ever gained from my time in that office was a good bunch of jokes. My superiors were convinced that the only way to keep our spirits up was to bombard us with jokes every minute of the working day.

Of course, I would have said that my acting career was worth celebrating, but, after the complete lack of any reaction to my disappearance I'm doubting it all now. I even looked back to the papers around the time I disappeared to find my obituary. It was tiny. I wasn't expecting a ten-page article in The Times or anything, but, you know, a little recognition goes a long way.

Right now, it looks like the only thing worth celebrating in my life has been the part I played in the downfall of Black Ghost. What does that say about me? I suppose an optimistic person would point out that I proved my mettle in a crisis and found previously unknown strength in myself, but, I'm not feeling very optimistic today. I was pulled into it against my will and I can't exactly talk to anyone here about it. They'd either lock me up in the mad house or turn me into a lab rat. I'm not going to jeopardise my freedom just so I can feel a bit better about myself.

If I'm going to do anything today, I'll probably just phone up my fellow actors and see if I can join them in whatever they're doing. Or maybe I'll just go to the cinema. Either way, I'm not going to stay in my flat and be depressed all day on my own.

The documentary is long over. The 7AM news is on, with nothing out of the ordinary to report save for a prove flying by the planet Venus and more on that whole Che Guevara thing. I begin to rise, with thoughts of walking down the street to a bakery for a decent breakfast. The only things in my fridge are a flat bottle of cola and some eggs that should have been thrown out a week ago. There's nothing to stop me from having an éclair for breakfast, since it is my birthday after all.

A sound reaches my ears. The buzzer for my flat is sounding. What the blazes? It's way too early for the mail and most of my friends are usually hung over at this time in the day. The only other possibility is the land lady. For an old deaf woman with rheumatism she never seems to have any trouble hearing me watching the telly and marching up the two flights of stairs to complain about it. But, then again she wouldn't need to ring the buzzer. She'd just march upstairs and start thumping on the door. Does that mean? It couldn't be...

As I stumble across the mess in my living room my heart begins to thump. The possibility doesn't even occur to me that I could be wrong. I'm forgetting every single other possibility and explanation in the face of my sheer excitement. As I answer the buzzer it takes all the strength and willpower I have to stop my voice from wavering.

_Who is it?_

A moment passes. Doubt begins to cloud my mind. What kind of idiot am I to instantly assume that the other cyborgs would just happen to come to my flat on my birthday when I'm in hiding? God, I'm such an idiot.

_Frankenstein's monster, of course._

Then again, I am just occasionally proven right by the world. That voice is unmistakeable.

_004, how the bloody hell did you find me?_

_ You can change your face as much as you like but you'll still be you underneath it all._

Damn you. I buzz my old comrade in and make a desperate dash to clear the worst of the mess from my living room. There's no point in putting the kettle on for tea since I ran out days ago. By the time there is a clear path from the front door to the settee 004 is already knocking at the front door.

Good god, I can't even begin to describe how brilliant this is. The smallest part of me was beginning to wonder if I'd ever see my old comrades again.

After a good handshake and the usual exchange of pleasantries, we make our way to the settee. For a few minutes we just sit around, chatting about nothing in particular. Apparently he's been in London for three days, taking in the sights and looking for me.

_Hang on, _I say. _Weren't you going back to East Germany?_

He laughs dryly.

_If you'd been there, you'd know better than to say that. _He says. _The whole reason I got taken by Black Ghost in the first place was because I was trying to get out of there. Since I have more of a choice now I'd rather live in a better country and have a better life._

_So, where are you based now?_

_Australia. _

_ That's a bit of a jump, if you don't mind my saying._

He shrugs.

_I'm of the same mind,_ he says. _I had been planning to stick to Europe but, unfortunately for me, fate had other plans. I ended up getting damaged and as such I had to find Dr Gilmore, He's been in Australia with the little one since they left Greece. Said something about needing absolute privacy to continue his research. _

For a moment, we just sit in silence. I'm feeling more than a little bit odd right now. After all those hours thinking about the past – specifically the war – and having 004 turning up in the same day new thoughts have taken seed in my head. It never bothered me when we were all together as a group of nine, but, when I think about it, the war wasn't really that long ago. The world had me convinced at the time that every single German in the world was a goose-stepping Nazi that was personally trying to end everything that was good and right in the world. Chances are, 004 has quite a few memories from the war too, even if he is that much younger than me. I bet he has some stories to tell about life on the other side, although, I don't really think I can bring it up without feeling completely awkward and sounding bitter.

Oh god, I just realised I've been sitting in silence for nearly five minutes. Either 004 doesn't mind the silence or he's just polite enough not to say anything. I'm such a bad host.

_Have you seen many of the others recently? _I say quickly, spurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

_A couple yeah, _he says. _I was in America before and I caught sight of 002 in New York. I was trying to find 005 for a couple of weeks, but, it's a really big country and I only have so much money to get by on. I am planning on a trip to Paris after this._

_ Do you really think that's wise?_

He knows what I mean; I can see it in his face. 003 seemed to have the hardest time of us all in Greece and when the fighting broke out between the nine of us she was the first to break down into tears. Said she never wanted to see any of us ever again.

_Probably not, _he says. _But, all the same, it'd be nice to know if she's coping._

And then, seemingly, it is 004's turn to become lost in thought. After a couple of minutes we start to talk again, mainly about London and very briefly about Berlin. We discuss some of the better moments from our days as a group and agree that being alive is a blessing that we're not going to waste, if not in those precise words. But, after a time he stands up.

_I hate to say it, 007, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to get going now._

_What, really? _I say. _You only just got here...!_

_ True, but, I don't have that much time before my train leaves, _he says. _I told myself I'd make sure all was OK with you and then head off._

Shame really, it looked to have been quite a birthday. I would have enjoyed introducing 004 to some of my new friends. Oh well.

The goodbye from me is somewhat bitterer than I had intended. Still, at least this took my mind off of that whole documentary thing and the past. 004 walks to the door, seemingly aware of my unhappiness. He pauses briefly before opening the door.

_By the way, _he says. _The Doctor is working on something. He won't tell me what, but, it seems to be something big. He's been working on it pretty much non-stop since he arrived in Australia and he says that when it's done he's going to bring us all back together._

And with that, he's off. The door slams behind him a little louder than I'd normally like, but, frankly my mind is reeling. Could it really be true? Will we all be together again? Could we really all work together again after everything that's happened? Time will tell.


End file.
